


wake up

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, also even get your ass up and show up in kh3, bangs hands on table more father/son even and ienzo dynamics please, repost from my rp blog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: He was his father. The only one he remembered, the only one that mattered.Ienzo, just after KH3D. Even has yet to wake, and Ienzo has yet to come to a few realizations. Zexion and Vexen may have not been very close, but now (and back then) it was different story.





	wake up

Ienzo couldn’t stand to be in the office any longer.

It was so familiar, comforting almost, but that same familiarity was tight and painful like an iron claw around his heart. His heart. It was still so surreal, so strange. He kept touching his chest, fingers crinkling the cloth of his shirt, as if expecting not to feel a heartbeat when he pressed down, but each time he did – there it was. A heart. Thumping steadily in his chest as if it had always been there, never left.

(And it had, though – it had left, he hadn’t been human, he’d been a wisp of a creature of a nonexistent empty shell, devoid of anything resembling life, no heartbeat no need to eat no need to sleep, he could if he wanted but there was no need, all he needed was a coat to keep himself from dissipating without a heart to glue him together—-)

He shook the thoughts away, slapping his cheeks sharply. He couldn’t be in this room. He couldn’t. The desk, the bookshelves, the writing on the walls because Ansem had never really bothered to get a proper chalkboard, every line on the wall and tile on the floor was home. It was horribly, painfully home, a home he never thought he’d see again – let alone thought he deserved to.

Ansem would never again sit in this office, never again read these books, never again write in his journals here, go into that lab and talk to Tron for hours at a time. Ansem would never again walk among his subjects, make speeches on holidays, smile at flowers from children, laugh and smile. Ansem would never again hold his hand, give him ice cream and beam down at him in that crooked way he had, sit him on his lap and show him how to play simple word puzzles, hold him up so he could reach the keyboard in the lab, walk with him along the hallways and sit with him in the garden on Ancestor’s Day when he was feeling alone.

Ansem would never do any of those things again, and it was their fault. His fault.

Ienzo hurried along ruined halls and past dusty doorways, head tucked low and trying not to think about the fact that his home was broken, shattered, in pieces, and it was because of him. No, because of Xehanort – but he was partially to blame. If he was no longer a child, he carried an adult’s guilt on his shoulders, and an adult’s responsibilities.

He didn’t realize until he was there where he’d rushed off to, and once again, his heart did a little flip, squeezing tighter until he felt like he couldn’t breathe around it. Even’s room.

Even still hadn’t woken, still slept – Aeleus had woken alongside Ienzo himself, the man on his feet and already in the Garden proper, reconnecting with the citizens and trying to figure out where to go and what to do. He was good at that, had always been well-liked anyway, and had a sense of calm and equilibrium Ienzo was having trouble finding. Dilan…Dilan had woken an hour or so ago and had retreated to his sanctuary, the kitchens. He was coping the best way he knew how, Ienzo supposed. Dilan had always felt so fiercely; it had been what made Xaldin a force to contend with, after all.

But Even was still asleep.

Ienzo crept into his room as if hoping that once again, as always, as it had always been – the very act of entering would startle the scientist from his slumber, and he’d be demanding to know what Ienzo wanted. But no such luck. He lay there under the comforter, pale and still, blond hair loose against the pillow.

Terror closed Ienzo’s throat for a split second and he was across the room, fingers fumbling for Even’s wrist, hand pressing against the white of his lab coat. Please please no no no no— there. Pulse, heartbeat, loud and insistent against his hands and in his ears, and he crumpled. Face buried in Even’s chest, murmuring soft gratitude into the covers, he just– no.

Not Even, too.

“You have to wake up,” he whispered. “Please.”

He didn’t know why he felt so shaken. He couldn’t remember the names of the emotions clogging his throat and twisting in his chest – or he could, really, it’s just that…they felt detached. Like emotions were something he’s only ever read about. And really, wasn’t that the case? A child of eight when he lost his heart, and now almost a grown man…and all that time without one. How could he possibly remember what it was like to feel? How could he remember being human?

He barely could. His memories felt like photographs, pages in a book – clear as day and present, nothing forgotten, but…distant. Like he read about them, saw them, but didn’t experience them. So disconnected, so detached…it’s a wonder he could feel anything at all, even with his heart.

But he did. He felt, and it’s overwhelming. It’s like he was drowning in it, no experience and no memory to guide him. The others, they were men grown already when they lost their hearts, they had things to build on. To go back to. But he was adrift. Alone. Painfully so – the bonds he’d had as a child, tight as iron, they had rusted over time, grown apart. He can no longer feel the same closeness, the same trust. There are gaps and holes now, and with the sudden viciousness only new raw emotions can bring he hated it.

He wanted to throw himself out of the room, find Aeleus and cling to him until things are alright again, until the bigger man somehow made things right. Curl up in his arms and just stay there, knowing he’s safe. He wanted to stay right here, bury himself under the covers next to Even, close his eyes and pretend hard as he possibly can that he was a child again, that nothing had changed, that it was all a bad dream.

“Wake up,” he repeated to himself, to Even’s still form. “Wake up.”

He needed you, Even.

The realization hit him like a sack of bricks and for the third time he could barely breathe. He needed him. He needed Even. A thousand old memories slid into place like puzzle pieces, seen through new eyes, seen through his heart. All the lessons, all the books, all the cold hands over his showing him how to cast spells, how to read, how to write, everything Ansem had never had time to do. The scent of peppermint and coffee and ink, the tang of ice magic (mint and pine). Warm tea at midnight, fixed in silence and drunk with little hands around mismatched cups after nightmares. The weight and warmth of a thin frame, sitting under a desk as he read and listened to the comforting scratch of pencil above him. Chalkboards with math problems, complicated equations, pieces fitting together with the tap of chalk.. A rare, thin smile and soft chuckle. “Come along now.”

He didn’t notice he was crying until he sucked in a breath and tasted salt, and even then it took him a few moments to recognize tears. “Oh,” he managed, reaching up to touch the wetness on his cheeks. “Oh.”

He blinked, glanced down at Even, and he was gone again, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shake with silent sobs. He needed Even. He needed him. How could he have forgotten, how could he have let things deteriorate so much? Vexen and Zexion had fought like cats, bristling and angry, never a pleasant word. Zexion haranguing Vexen, full of bitterness and resentment, and Vexen spitting paranoia and defensiveness right back. How could that have happened? Even was– Even was–

He was his father. The only one he remembered, the only one that mattered.

And he hadn’t just pushed him away, he’d shoved and kicked and screamed and fought, and damn it. “Even,” he managed again, brokenly. “Please wake up. Please.”

His parents, Ansem…gone, all gone, and now if Even didn’t wake…

A soft moan got his attention, and he froze, the room stilling entirely as if frozen. Blue eyes flickered down as Even stirred, brows creasing and face shifting, eyes fluttering open. Green eyes, Ienzo remembered them well, discs of cold green ice. But these weren’t those, these were warm and frightened for a long painful moment, Even’s hands coming up to dig into Ienzo’s shoulders as he sat up like a snapped rubber band, and then they softened.

“Z-Zexion?” He managed, confused and bewildered. “No, I– you’re– we–”

“Even,” is all Ienzo could say, his voice shattering, and he threw himself at the blond, clinging to him tightly.

He felt Even stiff in his arms, heart racing, and then; “Ienzo?” Even’s voice was faint, almost reverent. “Are we–”

“We are,” he managed, his voice muffled. “Aeleus, Dilan, and all of us.”

Even slumped as if his strings were cut, boneless, and then he clung back, clutching Ienzo close. “Oh,” he whispered. “We’re back.”

“We’re home,” Ienzo confirmed.

There was silence, no sound but twin heartbeats and twin breaths, father and son clinging to each other with the desperation of those twice-dead. Finally, Even spoke again, his voice hoarse with tears he was fighting not to shed. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Oh, Ienzo.”

“Don’t be,” Ienzo said. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. It’s okay.” His voice cracked. “I missed you.”

Even froze a moment, and then relaxed, laughing weakly. Understanding. “I missed you, too,” he replied. A bandage, glue to fix the broken pieces. Not enough, but a start.

“Come on,” Ienzo said after a long moment. “Let’s go make sure Dilan hasn’t cooked himself unconscious. Get some tea.” He stood, smiling through drying tears – a real smile, one he hadn’t felt himself make in a decade. “We have a lot of work to do, Even.”

Even smiled back, stood. “We do, indeed,” he said, reaching out to absently adjust the ascot Ienzo hadn’t even noticed he was wearing. “Shall we get started, Ienzo?”

Ienzo just smiled wider.

**Author's Note:**

> THE WORLD NEEDS MORE FATHER/SON EVEN AND IENZO AND I SHALL PROVIDE.
> 
> Listen, Ansem may have been the one who adopted him on the paperwork, but it's very very clear in most if not all material that Even was Ienzo's father figure (from the BBS Novel description of Even: _...Ienzo, whom he treasures above all others_ anyone?). Ansem was probably the fun if distant and constantly busy uncle figure, at best. Ienzo might have loved him, but he wasn't a father.
> 
> So, thinking about that and the way Zexion and Vexen acted wounds me. So I hope these two get to repair their relationship, honestly.
> 
> This was reposted here from my RP blog, honestly, because I have a lot of stuff I wrote there.


End file.
